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Updated: June 27, 2025
Morton needs more flowers for the house; and the arrangement I suggest makes the yard look much more shipshape." "If we sod down these beds here what will Roger do for his sweetpeas? They ought to have the sun on both sides; the fence line wouldn't be the best place for them."
Approaching Malta Street, Soho, and the Restaurant Bretagne, where Annette would be drooping her pretty shoulders over her accounts, Soames thought with wonder of those seven years at Brighton. How had he managed to go on so long in that town devoid of the scent of sweetpeas, where he had not even space to put his treasures?
They all laughed, for Roger's demand for sweetpeas had resulted in a huge amount of seeds being sown in all three of the gardens. "Where are we now?" continued Mr. Emerson. "Now there ought to be something that will come into its glory about the first of August," answered Helen. "What do you say to poppies?" "Are there pink poppies?" "O, beauties!
"Here, Gerald," one called to another, "these young women have just begun this business to-day and they haven't had a customer yet. I'm going to be the first; you can be the second." "Nothing of the sort; I'll be the first myself," and "Gerald" tossed half a dollar on to the table with an order for "Sweetpeas, all pink, please."
Beyond the veranda he had glimpses of a gorgeous garden, with sweetpeas, marguerites, queer-looking cactus plants, blazing-red geraniums, and a coral tree in full bloom.
"Very much," laughed her grandfather, "but this is good fun because it doesn't always blossom 'true, and you never know whether you'll get a pink or a deep rose color. Now, let me see," continued Mr. Emerson thoughtfully, "you've arranged for your hollyhocks and your phlox those will be blooming by the latter part of July, and I suppose you've put in several sowings of sweetpeas?"
"The Ethels did begin it some time ago; I caught them at it," he accused, shaking his finger at his sister and cousin. "I told the girls we had been taking flowers to the Old Ladies' Home," confessed Ethel Brown. "O, you have! I didn't know that! I did find out that you were supplying the Atwoods down by the bridge with sweetpeas." "There have been such oodles," protested Ethel Blue. "Of course.
"It's queer, some of the combinations would be perfectly hideous in a dress but they look all right in Nature's dress." "We'll send for some seedsmen's catalogues and order a lot." "I suppose you don't care what else goes into the garden?" asked Helen. "Ladies, I'll do all the digging you want, and plant any old thing you ask me to, if you'll just let me have my sweetpeas," repeated Roger.
"I worked a whole hour in the sun every single day! If we have acres of sweetpeas we'll all have to help Roger pick." "I'm willing to," said Ethel Blue. "I'm like Roger, I think they're darling; just like butterflies or something with wings." "We'll have to cast our professional eyes into the garden and decide on the best place for the sweetpeas," said Roger.
Outside, in the small garden, among mignonette and early flowering sweetpeas, Plato sat on his huge haunches in lion-like dignity, blinking at the sun, while Walden's terrier Nebbie executed absurd but entirely friendly gambols in front of him, now pouncing down on two forepaws with nose to ground and eyes leering sideways, now wagging an excited tail with excessive violence to demonstrate goodwill and a desire for amity. and anon giving a short yelp of suppressed feeling, to all of which conciliatory approaches Plato gave no other response than a vast yawn and meditative stare.
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